


Echoes Across The Sand Dunes

by Cornerstone13



Category: America's Suitehearts - Fall Out Boy (Music Video), Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Gen, Old Gods, They're kind of creepy, They've been around for a long long time, but they mean well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:54:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cornerstone13/pseuds/Cornerstone13
Summary: There are Old Gods in the desert, more than just the Phoenix Witch and Destroya. They have been around for millennia and they will be around for many more, when the time of the Killjoys finally ends.They are the protectors and guardians of the zones and it's their duty to look after all who live there. They are known, yet also forgotten, for the most part, but not completely. They are still out there, in the markets, the races, the games, they are always around and watching their wards.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	Echoes Across The Sand Dunes

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!! I'm head over heels in love with this au and I know I'm going to be fully obsessed with it for a very long time! Thank you so very, very much to Honestmouse. They've been the perfect rock to bounce ideas off and they've been asking all the right question to force me into thinking about world-building, rather than just going ahead and writing. They are absolutely brilliant and I can't thank them enough! 
> 
> Another person I have to thank is the amazing Kryptidkat!! They are an absolute life saver and I honestly couldn't have done it without them. Thank you for going through my work and beta-ing it for me, you are a legend (and I'm sorry I don't know how to properly use a semi-colon). thank you for letting me ramble on about this at all times of the night.

There once were Gods in the desert. Beings older than the very sand they stepped on. Their names shouted, echoing through hallowed halls.

“Of course there aren’t any”; you laugh derisively. “If there were, their names wouldn’t have been forgotten. If ever there were Gods, they have been lost to time. Their names and deeds have gone. Only The Phoenix Witch and Destroya live on.”

Ah.

That is where you are wrong.

The Old Gods are still around. They have not gone, or been forgotten, or become lost.  _ They blended in. _

You may have caught sight of them in the corner of your eye at the market, or for a moment in the crowd before a fight broke out.

A young man with copper coloured hair and bright, flashing eyes. If you happen to get a bit closer, you will notice the unnatural paleness of his skin and the daintiness of his painted lips. He holds an air of calmness around him, the kind you would find in a hospital waiting room after being told your loved one was going to make it and the surgery went well. If you seek him out, you may find him flitting around the stallholders, around the ones manned by the very young and the very elderly, the children and the old souls. Every person he passes seems to straighten with a new shot of energy and their ailments are forgotten, for a brief while.

A man also holding the same timeless quality as the bright man, and yet his total opposite. This one is dark and skeletal. He has deep, obsidian hair and richer, olive-toned skin. You would think him almost unremarkable and your gaze would shift over him completely, until you registered the big hole of  _ nothingness _ sat at the very edge of your vision. If you look at him straight on and a bit too hard, you will make the discovery that he has entirely too many teeth, and perhaps it was better when you didn’t know. However, this doesn’t make you fear him completely; it’s the sense of a childhood fear, one that seems silly to still have but that you can’t quite shake. Although in contrast, he holds the energy of childhood dreams and half-forgotten memories. You will find him in the shadows just…. watching. He observes, learns and uses this to weave his stories.

Another figure you might glimpse is a man of medium height with a wild cloud of brown curls, dressed head to toe in rich orange. Unlike the other two, so careful about who sees them and for how long, you get the distinct impression that this one  _ wants  _ to be noticed. You will easily find him at card tables, make shift boxing rings, even children’s games down in the sand. Anywhere there is money or something equally valuable being exchanged, he will be. An iron horseshoe pendant hangs from a chain around his neck you notice he fiddles with constantly. Eventually you notice that when a game has truly caught his attention, his fingers will trace the shoe and then brush the cards of a favoured player. He has the high energy of someone bristling for an argument, always tense and always, always with dancing fingers.

The last one, a tall man dressed all in green. He is near silent, but the pictures covering his torso and arms tell whole stories for him. They are constantly shifting and re-drawing themselves into whole narratives spanning his broad shoulders. Again, he is not difficult to find, if you know where to look. Wherever there is a child left out of a game, you will find him. Where there is a young parent taking a break for the sake of their struggling son, he is just by the next boulder, urging them on. Any person that needs to take rests for their health, those who drop from sheer exhaustion, anyone who the desert tries to chew up and spit out, he is there with quiet whispers of encouragement.

However they are not alone in this protection of the zones and their residents. There are Rebels who have been around since the first Killjoys, canny to the ways of the Suitehearts and willing to be their eyes and ears across the desert. Two of them trusted for their familiarity and knowledge. One, a radio DJ, his constant broadcasts known to all who suffer from paranoid days and lonely thoughts. The other, a poet and dreamer, his stories known to all who suffer from sleepless nights and restless dreams. These two men are the backbone of the zones, immortalised into the history of all the Killjoys that came before and all the ones to come. They were there, in the little radio station out in Zone 4, when the first Killjoys finally fell, and they were there when a younger generation took notice.

Do not make the mistake of thinking that these  _ protectors, _ these  _ Gods,  _ are always the benevolent beings you glimpse.

The short doctor in his eye-searing coat and a smile as sharp as surgeon’s steel, with a glint in his eye that fills you with primal fear.

The dark dreamer with his high collar and dead, hollow eyes that make you remember that nightmares are dreams too.

The ever-lucky man in his orange shirt with the blooming red roses and ever twitching fingers, the adrenaline press of giving  _ more, more, more. _

The tall silent watcher with his mournful gaze imploring you to carry on, even when your feet are cracked and sore.

So yes, there are Gods in the desert.

Do not forget them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to shout your thoughts at me in the comments, or on tumblr @clocks-are-our-friends.


End file.
